


The Contract Said Nothing of Your Wicked Games

by augopher, captaintinymite (augopher)



Series: Better To Reign In Hell... [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst and Feels, Demon Derek Hale, Digital Art, Established Relationship, Hell, M/M, Topielec!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher, https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unhappiness at his job in Hell leads Derek to put too much stock in the words of a demon he meets one day on his commute home. Stiles has been topside for many months, due back any time, and Derek is lonely. He did not sign up for this. </p><p>In his frazzled state, he says things to Stiles, which unbeknownst to him, set in motion actions that could have serious consequences.</p><p>Takes place a century after part one in the series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is This All Folly?

Derek hung his top-hat on the hook by the door, sighing as he shed his jacket. One hundred years, one hundred years of this. Never did he think when he joined Stiles in hell, that his eternal job would be walking Hellhounds of the underworld’s elite. He’d liked dogs plenty when he’d been of the living world. Hellhounds, however, were less than enjoyable, nipping at his heels, hands or straight out slashing him across the midsection, leaving a wound that would take days to close. Despite being, well dead, the bites still hurt.

 

The flat was empty. Of course it was. Stiles was not due back from his recruiting trip until later that evening. With a huff, Derek flopped onto the sofa, the same sofa that had been falling apart for twenty years, patched together as best they could with scraps of fabric and string. Feathers shot out from the hole in the cushion in several directions. He just-

He hadn’t signed up to spend his afterlife in squalor. Yes, Stiles had been saving to buy a home for them; Derek contributed what he could from his meager wages. That did not mean they needed to sit on furniture that was falling apart.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Stiles hadn’t been home in six months anyway. What would he know about the state of their apartment? Derek rose off the sofa and went to make himself a cup of tea. The import business was big down here. Derek walked dogs, Stiles stole souls, and other demons went topside to dabble in trade. They gave merchants money and brought the product back below.

It was a bustling enterprise. Why couldn’t he get that for a job?

As he waited for the water to boil, Derek buried his head in his folded arms upon the counter. For the past five years, he’d been putting in applications anywhere that might take him, to no avail. See, the hounds weren’t the worst part of his job. No, that belonged to the clientele, sneering down their noses at him, offering the sparsest of tips despite the long grueling walks upon which he took their pets, looking down at him like he was hardly more than a speck of soot on their shoes.

Today, well today had just been another in a long line of miserable days, and if Stiles hadn’t been sent on such a long business trip, maybe he wouldn’t be in as foul a mood. No, wait. Yes, he would. He had the demon he shared the elevator ride with to thank for that…

_...Derek looked around the car for an empty seat, taking the only available one. He sat, sandwiched between the wall and a demon who looked to be a member of the government, if the insignia on his lapel was any indication._

_Sensing his discomfort, the demon scooted over slightly to give Derek a little more room._

_“Thank you.”_

_“I have ridden this trip every work day for the last half century; I have not yet seen you. Have you come to hell as of late?”_

_Derek gave a nervous laugh. “Celebrated my deathday for one-hundred and six years two months past.” He scratched his chin, realizing he needed a shave. A few years ago, he managed to convince Stiles that they should age up a little in their appearance so that they no longer looked like children. Now Derek looked like he imagined he would if he’d lived to see twenty-one. “I happened to leave work past time.”_

_“And you ride all the way to the third level? That is quite the long trip. What takes you to such a place close to the surface?”_

_“Ah, that would be my residence in Lethe Tower.” The man looked at him like he couldn’t get away from Derek far enough._

_“What occupation must one possess that pays so little only to allow one to afford such a place?”_

_“Hellhound walker, in truth, however, the location of our domicile is purely the result of my stingy swain. He insists we must save every bit we can so that may one day purchase a home in Asphodel Meadows. I do not know how realistic his timeline was of another hundred years when he first brought me down here, but he has been working toward this vision for some four hundred and fifty years now. Who am I to dampen his dreams?”_

_The demon regarded Derek for quite a while. “You were brought down here? Recruited, and you chose not for torment?”_

_“No.”_

_“I used to work in recruiting, many a year ago. Who brought you?”_

_“Stanisław.”_

_“The topielec? And he convinced you to skip torment for promise at redemption?” The man laughed. “You now are his pet? Did he woo you with dishonest but sweet words before he dragged you to the depths of the deep?”_

_Derek swallowed hard. “I assure you, I am not his pet.”_

_“But you reside at his domicile?”_

_“It is **our** home. ”_

_The demon shifted in his seat. “Did he tell you his preferred way to conscript a soul? Instead of stealing them as most recruiters are wont to do, he makes quite the game of it, gaining trust so that in the end the soul decides to go willingly. That spirit is very shrewd in that respect, a master. So many souls are bound for the Middle ring of Level Seven as a result of his actions. Those are, indeed, most valuable. How in the heaven did he sway you then to forego any chance at paradise if not with flattery?”_

_Derek had no words; he felt his stomach churn at the demon’s words. Stiles made games of his acquisitions? Had he been merely a plaything for him? The air in the elevator was suddenly too fresh and made his head spin, and yet, the demon kept speaking, talking of Stiles’ accolades over the centuries, how many souls he’d claimed, like his love was some sort of legend._

_But- The words he’d spoken to Derek had been so kind, so assuring that he was rarely that polite to the souls he claimed. Derek felt special. Had those words and every word since merely been lies?..._

...The kettle whistle had been singing for a while before Derek realized it, and he found he no longer wished for tea. He shut off the flame and retreated to their bed to wait for Stiles to return home. He needed to know.

The chiming clock woke Derek from his slumber just as Stiles walked into their room.

“Dearest Beloved, I have finally returned from such a miserable quest. Only two souls that entire half year. Can you believe that? Six months away from my love for two souls. I cannot wait for the days when I may dispatch my own minions topside to acquire servants for our dark leader. But yet, cause for a joyous occasion and celebration, for I have news most wonderful.”

When Stiles moved to kiss his forehead, Derek flinched. “Do not.”

“Why ever not? I do not understand. I have not seen you in so many days. I long for the taste of your lips on mine, for the feel of your hands upon my flesh.”

Derek did not meet his eyes. “I fear I do not long for the same.”

Stiles’ brows furrowed in both confusion and pain. “My love? Have I done you a disservice, made a grievance against you? It is not of my control how long or how often I must be away. Just like you, I have a part to play, and I must adhere to it.”

“Play? Your choice of words, Stanisław, astounds. It is so flippant, and yet so perfect a description to what you have done.”

Stiles stared at him. “I pray you, please tell me what it is I am meant to have done?”

“When you found me, spoke to me with such ardent words,” he shuddered, “was all of that simple farce, a means to your end? Was I gulled with sweet nothings so as to add to your parcel of souls? Am I merely another number to you?”

Eyes wide with panic, tears barely contained, Stiles could hardly stand. “Who has filled your head with such blasphemies, that would make a mockery of everything we have built he-”

“Built? Stiles, we reside in shambles, all for your wayward hope that one day we may live like kings. Tis a foolish, puerile dream.”

Stiles couldn’t look at him. “Every sentiment I have showered upon you has been naught but genuine.”

“Through your words and actions, you deceive mortals to drown themselves. To come willingly elevates the worth of their soul. You did that to me. So pray tell me, was I your plaything, merely a folly? Am I but your pet, even now?"

"I admit, as despicable as it may seem, when I first saw you, yes. I desired to acquire you. However, I assure you, most sincerely so, as I came to know you, Derek, I desired more than another soul. You were miserable, suffering in sorrow and loneliness. Pretend for a moment, My Love, I simply left you be, and in the end you took your life all the same. You would have passed into shade alone, bound for hell with nothing to prepare you for what was yet to come. Believing yourself guilty of some great affront, would have chosen torment.  
"For that, yes, I am guilty. I went into the acquisition with a motive less than pure, but I swear to you, when I made you that offer, I had only the noblest of intentions. Have I not given you everything I promised?” The volume of his words echoed throughout the apartment. “Companionship, happiness. Have I not given you love?"

“Companionship? You have been gone for months. How can you call that companionship?”

“I have no choice; to refuse is not an option. We must accept the servitude we are given. Do you not think I would rather be here spending my nights in your embrace, my days held in your warm smile, instead of at the bottom of cold and murky waters lying in wait? You would hold centuries of acquisitions against me, knowing you are the only soul to whom I gave a choice?”

Derek stood silent and stone-faced, oblivious to the ways his words were breaking Stiles’ heart.

"Do you now, regret your choice to forsake atonement for a life eternal with me?"

"Yes."

Stiles felt his heart, waterlogged and yet, permanently frozen but for the warmth of Derek’s affection, splinter in his chest. “One hundred years, a longer lifetime that you would have had if you had never lain eyes on me, and you would but cast it away on the baseless words of another. I have seen the look of love on your face, as I have shown you mine countless nights over our time together. I do not understand how a life so cherished with another can be so easily forgotten.” He took one look at Derek and could no longer stand the air in the room. Sparing no further glance back over his shoulder, he walked out of the bedroom and towards the door, striding past the bottle of Fire Wine and card he’d lain on the dining table.

Receiving wages for his last trip, he had at last enough savings to purchase their home, only to be told his dream was folly. His cause for celebration had turned sour in the realization, that he might once more be alone like he had been for centuries before Derek.

The door slammed shut behind him, louder than he intended.


	2. I Know the Cost to Make Amendments

Stiles stood outside the ornate facade of a building he’d walked past thousands of times in his afterlife, never once seeing reason to step inside. Today, however, things were quite different. He needed to amend an error if he could.

The bell above the door chimed as he opened it, and a withered demon in long robes soon met him at the counter. “And how may I be of service to you?”

“I am here to seek the counsel of a scryer.”

“And what event would a vodyanoy such as yourself need divined?”

Stiles fought not to roll his eyes. He was Polish damn it; he was not a vodyanoy. “I acquired a soul some years ago, and I fear I have made a terrible choice. I must know, had I not taken him, for how many years would his thread have run?”

The seer beckoned Stiles into a curtained room. On the table sat a stone bowl filled with dark water. “Please sit. Before I begin, I must ask, have you something of the intended, a bit of hair perhaps?”

“No, but I do have this.” He removed a simple blue cord tied around his wrist. “It was a gift.” He hesitated in handing it over. “What will become of it?”

“Fret not. It will be put into the bowl where it will remain to help guide the vision. It will be returned to you in the same condition.”

Stiles placed the bracelet into the bowl and waited while the seer recited an incantation.

“Ah yes, Derek Hale, born in Exeter, December 25th, 1739 to a Talia and Simon Hale. Died February 2nd, 1755.” The seer continued to peer into the scrying bowl until another vision formed. “Do you wish to have this recorded for your reference?”

“Indeed, I do.”

The man chanted once more until a wisp of smoke rose from the bowl, which he captured in a glass locket. “There you are, Sir. Please see my assistant to render payment.”

Locket tucked safely away in his waistcoat pocket, Stiles took the Infernal Elevator down another level, walking with determination until he arrived at the center of level, the downtown, as it were.  Unlike his last destination, he had been in this building many, many times, more than he could count by now.

He tore a slip of parchment off the roll and sat down to wait, filling out his paperwork and turning it in. Minutes turned to hours turned to morning while happiness turned to ashes in his mouth.

“Number 231.”

Stiles looked up from his sorrow induced stupor. “That is me.”

The receptionist motioned him to the door. “Through that door, third floor, second door on the left.”

“Thank you.” He trudged, weary and broken down the empty corridor, forsaking the elevator for the stairs. Sort of prolonging the misery. It seemed, though he knew it to be a hallucination, he could hear the sounds of a dirge playing as he marched to his inevitable end. With heavy hands, he pushed open the door to the office.

“Why Stanisław Stilinski, I have but seen you only a handful of times this last century. What brings you to my office? Please, sit.”

“Mastema, I need to rectify an error in acquisition made over a century ago.”

Mastema’s eyebrows rose on his forehead. “That is quite a long time to let an error fester before addressing it.”

Stiles looked down at his fingers knotted in his lap. “Well, to be forthright, the error has benefited me greatly, and until most recently, did not wish to fix it.”

The demon read the parchment in his hand. “I see. You are here to address the servitude of one Derek Hale, are you not?”

“Indeed I am. He did not come willingly that night; I know that is what I initially conveyed, but it is a fallacy. Indeed, I hold a great deal of affection for that soul, and did not wish him to suffer. So I filled the young man’s head with lies, warping his already fragile and distraught mind into believing me. He was but a child, a young man of sixteen, who had at most committed minor, minor sins such as disobeying his parents and not finishing his dinner. He would not have gone to his death if not for me. His was different than my normal acquisitions in that I spent time with him to learn his weaknesses in order to exploit them. It is of my belief that if not for me, he would never have been here after his natural death.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I feel I have betrayed my superiors.  I must know what it would take to get Derek out of his eternal service and if his years already given are enough to escape torment altogether.” He could feel tears slip out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He did not dare look up at the demon in front of him.

Mastema looked into the black mirror on his desk, regarding the knowledge he found within it. “Had he chosen torment, he would have been sent to heaven after a mere week. Since he has spent his service thus far harming no souls and caring for the creatures of hell, he would be granted immediate ascension.”

Stiles took a shaky breath. “I wish to have that put in certificate.” His voice broke on the last word. He knew what his words would cost him, and that knowledge broke his heart further.

Mastema stared at Stiles in shock. “You are aware of the cost are you not?”

“I am indeed.”

“By the cost, I refer to what that means for you should this voucher ever be redeemed.”

“Yes. I find I do not much care. I only ask that the certificate not contain the standard fine print explaining such. I will have no influence on his decision.” As Mastema exited his office, Stiles broke down in sobs, somehow managing to stow his tears upon the demon’s return.

Mastema presented him with a gilt-edged scroll. “For you, one certificate of time served. I pray you consider it wisely, as you have been a valuable servant of our lord.”

Stiles clutched the scroll and made the arduous journey back to the home he shared with Derek, determined to fix his greatest injustice.

He displayed both items in a prominent position on the dresser, where he knew Derek would find them immediately upon his return. Underneath both, he lay what he felt to be the last letter he would ever write.

 


	3. Go Forth and Redeem Your Ticket to Paradise

Another grueling day of work had been made so much worse by the fact that Stiles had not returned home the night before. He felt the man running from their argument to be quite cowardly, and he hardly slept at all. Derek could not recall ever feeling so angry over something in his life or afterlife for that matter. Wearily, he climbed the eight flights of stairs to their apartment, opening the door to find the interior still devoid of Stiles.

“To flee at the sign of confrontation. How very childish.” Derek continued grumbling under his breath. In his rage the night before, he’d failed to see the bottle and card on the table, both items partially obscured by the large vase of Devil’s Trumpets. He still hadn’t seen them.

Retreating to the bedroom and ultimately bathroom to wash the stench of Hellhound from his body, his eyes fell immediately upon the dresser, just as Stiles intended. With confusion, he pondered which item to pick up first, deciding the letter would most likely clear things up for him.

Derek felt his knees buckle beneath him, and he sat on the bed. He could be with his family again, the way he should have been all along? How could Stiles acquire such a certificate, and why, if Derek had been merely a plaything for him, would he do so?”

Sparing no time, he tucked the locket and scroll into his coat pocket and set off for the Plains of Judgement.

 

*   *   *   *   *

Derek took his place in line behind hundreds of souls. He felt a pang of regret that he would not be able to see Stiles again, to at least thank him for setting things right. Still, the man had run, choosing to flee than face him again, and maybe it was for the best.

Behind him, he heard two men discussing the words they intended to speak to Minos in an attempt to win favor.

“I have toiled in the slush of the Third Level’s field of punishment for two hundred years for simply being a slave to the drink. I think that more than deserves reevaluation.”

“I have fought on the swampy banks of the Styx for so many years, I have lost count. My blood has been spilt time and time again. I feel it is a worthy sacrifice.” The man noticed their words had piqued Derek’s interest. “And you, poor soul, how have you paid your dues in hopes they consider you for reevaluation?”

“I need none. I have a Certificate of Ascension.” He watched both of their jaws hit the ground.

“How came you by such a rare and treasured item?”

“I have only known of a handful to be granted.”

Derek assessed them, weighing their words. “I am afraid I do not understand. It was a gift.”

“Well, then someone cared deeply for you in order to get it, and their words must have great power.”

“I do not follow.”

“How were they able to convince your recruiter to admit their betrayal in exchange for your trip?”

The other man continued to explain upon seeing the further confusion on Derek’s face. “To be in possession of such a thing, the demon who acquired you will give up a lot. Punishment for them will be most severe. They will face the torment of the Ninth Level’s Fourth Round. What recruiter would ever agree to such a thing, especially just for one soul?”

Derek worried his lip between his teeth. He felt like he would retch his last meal upon the ground at any moment. The longer he thought about it, the more souls passed through the Gates of Judgment ahead of him, the worse he felt, until he could no longer take it. “Punishment? For how long?”

Both men spoke in unison. “Forever.”

  
  



	4. For My Act of Mercy, You Would Condemn Me?

Outside the gates of Asphodel Meadows, Stiles sat upon a stone bench by the fountains. He knew this spot well. Many hours had been spent here, enjoying a meal by himself, spending time with Derek wherein no words need pass between them. Derek.

Stiles rubbed his chest, the pain too raw to deal with. He’d done the right thing. He was sure of it, both then when he’d taken him, and now to set him free. It didn’t mean the right thing didn’t hurt like nothing he’d ever known.

With one arm, he clutched his knees to his chest and rested his head upon them. By now, Derek was surely in line, and Stiles had chosen this spot to wait for soldiers to come and collect him. It seemed an appropriate location to do so. The symbol of all his dreams would be where all of said dreams died. Almost poetic. Still, he prayed with everything he had, the man had heeded his warning and not watched the vision recorded in that locket. Those images would haunt Stiles forever…

_...Angry boots stomped into the frigid shell of the burned out Hale Manor. Hands snatched Derek from where he slept on that tattered blanket and yanked him into the street. The poor boy was then dragged through the streets into the center of town where stocks had been erected._

_Derek shivered as the cold metal clamped down over his neck and hands, the abject terror more than apparent on his face. From his position, he could not see the face of the man speaking, but he recognized the voice nonetheless._

_“This heretic has disgraced the good name of this town! His actions have brought dishonor to my daughter and cost his family their lives, not to mention cost me a servant!” Gerard Argent addressed the growing crowd. “He has committed the unnatural act of buggery and must be punished like the vile creature he is!”_

_“I have committed no such offense!”_

_“My daughter caught you with my pageboy!”_

_“Twas merely a kiss. Nothing more. I swear to you on all things holy.” The fear in his voice made him sound even younger than he was._

_“Be that as it may, your actions would surely have led you down that path in time.”_

_“So you mean to punish me for a sin, I had not yet committed, on the chance I might in the future? By that logic, who in town might take a man’s life in a drunken quarrel at some point in the future? Should we try him for murder now, while the victim is alive and well?”_

_When Gerard passed around the basket of stones, Derek clamped his eyes shut…_

...Stiles wiped the tears from his eyes. How many nightmares would the sight of Derek’s desecrated body cause? There was no answer to that question.

In his hand, he turned the spool of red cord over and over, feeling the weight of it in his palm. This had been the real cause for his intended celebration the day before. For as much as he wished to take all his savings to a merchant and buy them a home for all eternity, he wanted nothing more than to wrap this piece of cord around his beloved’s finger in that intricate knot, declaring his intent for the underworld to see.

He clutched the spool tightly in his hand, holding his fist against his lips as more tears than he’d ever shed spilled from his eyes. Maybe when they took him away, they’d let him keep it . Doubtful, just like everything he ever cared about, it would be stolen. He probably deserved to have it taken then.

His face buried in his knees, he let himself succumb to the crushing weight of the last day, when his whole world fell apart.

Eventually, and heaven if he could say how long it had been, Stiles heard footsteps approaching. Without lifting his head, he held out his arms, wrists together. “I presume you are here to deliver me to the Fourth Round. You need not shackle me; I shall go willingly.” Warm hands pried his head out of his knees, and he found himself face to face with Derek.

 

“Thank you.”

“For your certificate?” Derek shook his head. “You watched it? My love, I begged you not to.”

“Broke the locket when he passed around the stones.”

“It took you over a day to die. Then that horrible man cut you in half. They left your body in the street to rot! Derek, they never buried you.”

Derek licked his lips. “All the same. Thank you.”

Stiles couldn’t look at him, and his hand still clutched around the spool.  "Three hundred years, I had been doing what I did, and never once had I been so kind, making sure they weren't afraid, got to know them, stayed with them after. I never told anyone about the choice. Four hundred years I'd been alone, but I saw you and I knew. You were like me, alone. I only ever wanted to make you happy. I thought I had found a kindred spirit to share in the afterlife with me." He wiped his eyes. “But you should go be with your family. I know you would rather that, than to be with someone like me.”

Derek cupped his chin. “Why would you do that for me, knowing what you would face?”

Stiles stared at him in shock. “The certificate was supposed to be free of any such wording. What I would suffer was not supposed to influence your decision in any way!”

“And how would I feel knowing you were suffering for eternity for me?”

“You would never have known! Do you honestly think being encapsulated in ice for the rest of my days would hurt even half as much as knowing you thought so low of me?” Tears poured down his face as he spit the words at him. “How could you think I would create such an elaborate masquerade just to continue a game? Did we not share the same bed for a hundred years? Did all my kisses feel like a farce to you?” He took a shuddering breath. “It does not matter. My heart is already frozen, the rest of my body might as well match.”

Derek stroked Stiles’ cheek with his thumb. "I did not get the chance to ask yesterday before I ruined things. What were we meant to be celebrating? "

Stiles wiped his eyes. "The house I have wanted since first I laid eyes upon it has been for sale for five months. I checked on it when I came under the day before yesterday. With my latest earnings, we can finally buy and furnish it, but if you leave me... I do not want it." He broke down sobbing into Derek’s shoulder. "It would no longer be my dream home anymore if you were not to share it with me."

“Oh, My Dearest.” Derek wrapped him in a hug. "I am most ardently regretful my words have caused you such pain. I was distressed, had a day most unpleasant, and my mind was easily swayed by callous words, words my heart would never have believed. Whatever the reason you choose me, matters to me none. I know you, know your heart, and the way you have treated me should have been indication enough of your sentiments. I can only hope you will accept my sincerest apologies." He tried to take Stiles' hands, but Stiles would not let him. "My Love, what are you holding?"

Stiles shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no. Not like this."

Derek turned Stiles’ hand over, and Stiles slowly uncurled his fingers.

"Oh, you had intended to celebrate more than the house?" Stiles nodded, and he closed Stiles' hand back around the spool. "I am not leaving, for heaven would not be heaven without you in it. So you keep that, and do it the way you wanted."

Stiles smiled through the tears.

"Now, let us go speak with a merchant about that house before someone purchases it out from under us. That would be quite the tragedy."

 

 

 


	5. A Home Worth Its Wait in Gold

With Derek clinging to his back, Stiles struggled, but eventually carried him in the front door. “Here we are, Dearest Beloved. Feast your eyes on our new home, and if you will pay special attention to the sofa, you will notice that this one is in fine condition, nary a feather nor coil out of place. If you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my back, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Derek laughed and slid off Stiles. Why the man had insisted in carrying him piggyback, Derek would never understand.

Stiles tugged on his hand. “Come, I must show you what makes every piece of coin worth it.” Stiles dragged him into the bedroom, where just as he suspected, the view overlooking the Styx took his breath away. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist. “Picture it now, waking every morning to that beautiful sight.”

Derek kissed his forehead. “I will be forever grateful that I overheard the two souls behind me speaking of their toils, forever indebted to them for asking about me. For I do not think I could stomach the thought of you miserable and in torment for my sake.”

“You would be worth it though. Besides, what is ice to a spirit who does not bleed for his heart is frozen?”

Holding him close, Derek peppered Stiles’ neck with tender kisses. “Ah yes, well I must admit, quite freely I might add, that your permanently damp and clammy exterior does make the harsh climate here much easier to bear.”

“I thought for sure I would walk around steaming as the water on my skin boiled and evaporated. Thrilled to know it is not the case.”

Derek pressed his lips against Stiles’, tracing his love’s bottom lip with his tongue, and Stiles went weak in the knees. “Your cold lips are the finest comfort on these scorching days. To feel them upon my skin is a treasure.”

Stiles fumbled in his pocket and grabbed Derek’s hand from around his waist. “Dearest, my most valued friend, it would do me the wondrous honor if you would pledge to be me soul partner for all eternity.” He looked at Derek with wide and hopeful eyes.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Stiles took Derek’s face in his hand and kissed him in a mix of passion and pure elation, so much so that he almost let himself get carried away before finishing his proposal. “Oh,” he chuckled nervously, “I need your hand.” Then, in a well rehearsed series of criss-crosses and knots, he wound the fine cord around Derek’s finger, finishing with the perfect knot. “There we are.”

“It is perfect.” Derek smiled at him, fully aware of how close he had come to losing all of this, throwing it all away on the words of a demon he’d just met. He made a vow with himself in that moment.

Never again would he let his heart and mind for that matter be swayed by those who would never understand their unconventional start. For, if Stiles was willing to suffer for all eternity just to allow him to ascend to heaven, well then Derek was willing to put all his faith in Stiles.

 

 


End file.
